


Summer Fruits

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ejaculation, Exhibitionism, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, Partner Swapping, Polyamory, Service Top, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sweat, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Wet Clothing, as the character identifies as male, would not be accurate to say 'female ejaculation'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A PWP vignette with Dwalin, Ori and Bofur staying with Bilbo for a summer holiday in the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> N.B. This is PWP written to break a drought. It makes no attempt to account for how or why all my favourite members of the Company are visiting Bilbo in the Shire in the summertime. I hope that is all right with you. It’s not in continuity with A Substitute for Pudding, though obviously the tone and characterisations are similar (one character difference is fairly salient).  
> It’s important to specify that although I like to imagine the dwarves looking as they do in the movies, I imagine Bilbo very differently from the film version, with a little round tummy like a pudding and a plump bottom. Have a look at [Hobbitdragon’s art](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/tagged/HD%27s-art) (thoroughly nsfw) for something very similar. [This](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/52697993686/let-me-explain-thaxted-and-i-have-a-private) and [this](http://hobbitdragon.tumblr.com/post/51628636771/you-sure-you-want-us-to-do-this-bofur-oh) are my particular favourites.

The Shire ripened under mellow sunshine. The most vivid wildflowers bloomed in the fields and hedges. Fruit swelled on branches and vines and blushed into delectable colours. The corn grew green and fresh and began to hint at gold, rippling in the slightest breezes, just as the Water rippled and glinted as it lapped below the Hill.

The hobbits were generally in agreement that this was the hottest summer in these parts in living memory. The Old Took was repeatedly questioned on this point and confirmed it volubly on condition that his interrogators would bring him an iced drink, and perhaps a little cold chicken, and a dish of strawberries wouldn’t go amiss. Cheeks were more than usually pink and rosy, waistcoats and frocks showed damp patches under the arms and down the middle of their backs, curls clung damply about temples and napes, and broad-brimmed hats, parasols and fans were essential accessories. Naked children leaped, shrieking with laughter, into streams and ponds, while more decorous adults waded in wearing their shifts and shirts, which clung to them so closely as they emerged that the decorum of the thing was really only a matter of form.

The uncommonly clement weather, and the prospect of excellent harvests that went with it, was the first topic of conversation whenever groups of hobbits gathered. The second, invariably, was that Bilbo Baggins under the Hill was entertaining dwarves _again._ Not as many this time, but for longer; they had arrived a good week ago on stocky, shaggy ponies that were now grazing in Mr Baggins’ meadows, and seemed to be comfortably installed in his spare bedrooms. There was no word on when they might depart. They strolled around the place and went to the shops in Hobbiton and drank in the Green Dragon, and generally seemed insensible of the fact that they were extraordinary and possibly outrageous.

To their credit, they stood their round like everyone else, contributed well to the music and singing of an evening, and were generally friendly and well-mannered, if a bit large and loud and hairy. The one with the hat and the plaits was particularly convivial and knew more limericks than anyone had heard before, some of them outstandingly salacious.

One great advantage of traditional hobbit architecture is that homes dug into the earth are well insulated from the weather. The only room of Bag End which really got hot in the summertime was the kitchen. The windows were propped open as soon as Bilbo shuffled in yawning of a morning, but since the next thing he had to do was to poke up the banked fire in the big cast-iron cooker and add fuel to make breakfast, brew tea and coffee and heat water for morning baths, such breezes as they admitted made little difference. It was decidedly sultry in there.

On a golden afternoon, Bofur came in from fishing in the Water, having caught some very pretty little trout that he thought would be a good addition to dinner, and found Bilbo sitting on the floor fanning himself with his mother’s recipe book while three large trays of ginger gems stood on the table, steaming fragrantly.

‘Are you all right, pet?’ he asked, looking around for somewhere to put the string of trout. Bilbo’s cheeks were crimson and his hair quite wet.

‘Spifflocating,’ Bilbo said faintly. ‘But I wanted us to have something nice for tea.’

‘Ah, come on now, you don’t have to get yourself into a lather baking fresh every day.’ Kindly, he held one of the cool wet fish to Bilbo’s forehead.

‘That’s both a bit disgusting and very helpful,’ Bilbo said. ‘Oh dear! How do you bear this heat?’

‘Well, it’s nothing like a forge, or down deep in a coal mine. Suppose it’s just another way we’re sturdy.’

‘You’re puddling on my nice clean floor,’ Bilbo observed, glancing at Bofur’s bare feet, which were still pale and wet from being dangled off the little pier extending from the bottom of the garden, the dark hair of his legs in sodden wet wriggles. He had been going barefoot more and more on this visit, both to fit in and to be comfortable. There had been a bit of friendly teasing in the Green Dragon about little dwarf feet and their soft soles, but overall it had been taken as a compliment.

‘I’ve just come up from the Water, and I tell you what, I’ll put these in your cool-room and we’re going straight back down there.’

Although Bilbo, who his late mother would have said had ‘overdone himself,’ grizzled and whined rather at having to get up from the cool bricked floor, he perked up slightly at getting out into the open air, and slightly more at peeling off his waistcoat and neckerchief, then his britches and pants, leaving them nicely folded on the end of the pier. Bofur’s clothes lay in a tumble alongside them, and he winked at Bilbo as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

‘Bofur!’ Bilbo exclaimed, scandalised. ‘There are _people_ about!’

‘Yeah? I’m dressed. Look, I’m wearing my woolly jumper,’ Bofur laughed, gesturing to the thick dark hair of his chest and arms.

‘You are _not_ dressed, standing about with a bare bottom and - well, _that.’_ He’d been astonished when he’d first seen the dwarves with their clothes off to bathe on the road. He was quite normal for a hobbit, with a small, plump, perky willy peeping out of a nest of soft brown curls. At rest its end hung no lower than his cherries, though you could add a bit on if you counted its soft foreskin. The dwarves, though, well, some of them had cocks that would slap you off your feet if they turned around quickly. They looked unbelievably obscene to him, so long and thick and ruddy. Then there were the ones who had fannies but said they were men, well, all right, that was their business and a dwarfy thing, and the ones with fannies who just pretended they were men while travelling away from home so as not to be pestered by strange Men. It seemed quite right that Dori was one of the latter kind, but he’d been astonished that both Thorin and Fili were the former. He’d quietly asked Balin, and learned that there were also some dwarf women with cocks, though there happened not to be any in Thorin’s Company.

Even the fannies were confusing, because they weren’t like the few he had seen - hobbit women had a little pink bean hiding in their parsley-beds, and if you wanted to give it a friendly tickle you had to go looking for it, while the dwarves’ ones popped right out to meet you. Ori’s was quite as big as his own willy. ([Reference](https://31.media.tumblr.com/687856882ad327eaa50ed336a2491aa8/tumblr_inline_myfg08v2sd1qfc6y7.jpg))

The flusterment of seeing all those things - the pink oliphaunt trunk hanging under Bombur’s swag of a belly sometimes haunted his dreams - was ever fresh in his memory, and here was Bofur waggling his around in broad daylight. He thought of how it had felt nudging in between his thighs in bed last night, heard someone laugh up on the Hobbiton road, and jumped straight into the water.

It was gloriously cool as he crashed in and sank down, bubbles fizzing and ticking in his ears. He opened his eyes underwater and saw the sunbeams glancing down through the water, and the sky and trees all ripply and strange through the surface, before kicking upward to break through and catch his breath. As he wiped the water from his eyes and shook back his hair, he saw Bofur was sitting on the end of the pier and laughing.

‘Come in!’ he called. ‘It’s lovely. And you’re offending public decency.’

‘No I’m not,’ Bofur chuckled, leaning back on his arms. His knees were comfortably splayed, as if he _wanted_ to show off that colossal sausage, as Bilbo saw it. ‘I’m giving public decency a treat.’

‘Well, you do look smashing,’ Bilbo admitted, treading water, ‘but I’d enjoy my dip more if you joined me.’

‘Right you are,’ Bofur said easily. He pushed himself off from the end of the pier and splashed down, swimming frog-fashion over to Bilbo with his plaits trailing in the water. ‘That’s refreshing.’

‘Isn’t it!’ said Bilbo, and ducked him. They had a thoroughly enjoyable and cooling swim in the fresh ripples of the Water, sun-warmed just under the surface and almost chilly near the pebbled, silty bottom. Neither of them could reach that without diving, which Bilbo did much better than Bofur. He showed off rather, bringing up stones and a very worn, smooth old bottle of blue glass. At last, beginning to feel rather peckish, Bilbo swam to the small ladder nailed to the side of the pier and caught hold of the rungs to pull himself up.

‘No you don’t,’ Bofur said, bobbing behind him and grasping the rung above the one Bilbo held. He wrapped his other arm about Bilbo’s middle and kissed the back of his neck. ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’

‘Back to the house,’ Bilbo protested, twisting around to face him and bumping noses. ‘To make tea. Well, not _tea_ tea. I thought we could have lemon squash and ham salad, and cider, and those nice little redcurrant jellies. Eh?’

‘Ah, but I haven’t finished.’

‘Finished what?’

‘Telling you how lovely you look swimming around in your little shirt. Which is completely pointless, by the way.’

‘It is not! It’s only respectable,’ Bilbo retorted, though he was smiling.

‘Oh yes, it’s very respectable how I just have to pop my head under the water and I can see it floating up and showing me your tummy and your bum and your wee willie twinkling at me.’

‘Does it twinkle?’

‘Like a little star, I promise. Or do I mean the little star in your bum?’ Before Bilbo could quite finish his sputter of shocked laughter, Bofur kissed him, nuzzling in so that his wet moustache rubbed his soft upper lip and cheek, giving him a taste of his quick, flickering tongue. It offset his interest in tea a bit, even if there were cool custard to go with the redcurrant jellies.

‘Let’s go back,’ he murmured. ‘We can be much more comfortable.’

‘All right, if you admit it about the shirt.’

‘Admit what, precisely?’

‘That you look more indecent with it on than without.’

‘I don’t see it, myself.’

‘Come on, up the ladder, sausage.’ Bofur gave him a friendly nudge, and he turned again and clambered up, his body feeling unusually heavy as he left the buoyant water, and his shirt clinging to him like a second skin, streaming and dripping, making dark blobby puddles on the sun-warmed boards once he was up there. He knelt and reached out to give Bofur a hand up, getting back to his feet as he grasped his hand and pulled.

‘Now, you just have a look at us,’ Bofur said, grinning, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes at their deepest. ‘I’m not saying either of us’s fit for company. But just _look_. You don’t think there’s anything a weeny bit suggestive about you in your soaking wet, half see-through shirt, with your little pink tits poking through?’ He gave Bilbo a very thorough, up-and-down look himself, still beaming, very pleased with what he saw.

‘Humph! Well, then, clearly I should take it off.’ He stripped off the sodden shirt, letting it hang dripping from one hand, bent to pick up his other clothes with the other, stood, gave Bofur a little ‘so there’ nod, turned and marched back up towards Bag End, followed by delighted laughter.

He felt rather fizzy and pleased with himself until he reached the path that crossed the garden, which was right of way by ancient tradition. Stepping onto its dusty surface, the powdery and gritty texture sticking to his wet feet, he felt most awfully nude. There was no help for it now, so he kept his head up and strode rather stiffly across to his nicely painted green gate, then up to his equally nice and green front door. The sun felt very hot on his bare shoulders and back, and it was a relief to step into the shade of the hall. Bofur was just a moment behind him, pouncing on him to swing him up and around, giggling, until he came to rest with his arms around Bofur’s shoulders and his legs around his waist, Bofur’s arms hooked under his thighs and broad hands grasping his bottom.

‘That was great,’ Bofur said, giving him a little bounce to settle his weight comfortably. ‘Talk about twinkling.’

‘Oh, pfft.’

‘No, you were, all the little drops of water. Trickling and twinkling over your bum.’

‘Well, you should write a poem about it.’

‘A song. Sing it down at the Green Dragon tomorrow night.’

‘Don’t you dare. Unless I’m _very_ heavily disguised. Is that you I feel nudging my bottom?’

‘Well, I’ve got both hands on your bum.’

_‘Not_ your hands.’ He spared one of his own to reach back, and settled to his own satisfaction that the unseen nudger was Bofur’s cock, rising warm and stiff against his softness.

‘I’d like to bugger you here on the floor,’ Bofur mumbled against his collarbone. His voice had dropped, low and throaty, and despite the shade and the cool of the swim, Bilbo felt sweat where his tummy pressed against Bofur’s chest. His first impulse was to say ‘yes, _please,’_ but common sense prevailed. He knew he needed to be very well buttered to be at all buggered.

‘The floor’s too hard,’ he pointed out. ‘Your knees wouldn’t thank you. Find a better place and I’m game.’

‘Oh!’ It was a startled voice behind them, and when Bilbo craned his neck to see, he found Ori was standing in the doorway of his library, rather red-faced himself. ‘Sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Bofur said, letting Bilbo down to the floor. ‘There aren’t usually canoodlers in the hall. Hope we haven’t shocked you,’ he added with a grin verging on a leer. 

‘Well, _no,_ but yes, you don’t expect to see bare bottoms and cocks out right by the front door.’ Ori gave them a sheepish smile. One of the things Bilbo found sweetest about him was that however many times he had been to bed with them, or with Dwalin, he never quite lost his air of boyish innocence. ‘I was just wondering if it might be time for tea.’

‘It is, really. Come on, Bofur, we’ll have tea and muck about afterwards.’

‘Fair enough, but can I offer you a suggestion?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You get too hot in the kitchen, don’t you? Then don’t wear anything in the kitchen.’

‘I’m not sure that’s practical.’

‘Well, you could put on an apron, but I think otherwise you’d be better off.’

‘I think that’s a very good idea!’ Ori put in. ‘You do get a bit hot and bothered.’

‘If you _both_ think so, I’ll try it.’

When Dwalin returned from a walk down to Hobbiton and a conversation with the blacksmith, who rather liked hearing tales of gory battle as long as they would never come near him or his, he found Ori and Bofur sitting at the kitchen table, Bofur in only Bilbo’s dressing gown and a big smile, while Bilbo whisked about making tea in just a green and white striped apron. Despite his nudity, he was clearly very warm, the roots of his hair damp and little beads of sweat slipping down his back and sides. He had decided to make a more substantial meal now and serve only a light supper later, so the cooker was alight, the trout on the grill, the teakettle bubbling away and heat radiating through the room.

‘What’s this?’ Dwalin asked, giving Ori’s shoulder a squeeze as he dropped into his accustomed chair.

‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ Bofur asked, in rapt contemplation of Bilbo’s plump bottom as he bent to peer under the grillpan. ‘Bilbo’s given up clothes.’

‘Not entirely,’ Bilbo said, bobbing up with crimson cheeks. ‘It’s just far too hot today.’

‘Nothing like the heat of a forge,’ Dwalin snorted.

‘Yes, you lot always say that when I complain of the heat, but let me tell you, I’m not a forgery sort of person.’ Bilbo bustled off to the cellar to draw a mug of the dark beer Dwalin liked at the end of the day. He was appreciating the deeper cool of the cellar, and blotting the sweat from his face with the skirt of the apron, when Ori came in.

‘Scuse me, Bilbo. I was wondering, have you got another apron? Because Dwalin watched you walking out and said he’d like to see me in the same.’

‘Oh, did he? Let me see what I can find.’ 

At the back of a linen cupboard he found a primrose yellow apron, rather creased from being folded for years but clean and not musty, and helped Ori put it on, tying the bow at the back for him since Ori claimed to be no good at those.

‘And your bows always look so nice and even.’

‘There. Very nice!’ He evened out the loops and gave a friendly pat to Ori’s bottom, narrow and dusted with ginger down.

‘The front’s a bit indecent,’ Ori said, smiling and biting his lower lip. The bib of the apron could not quite cover his small, upturned breasts. If he pulled it over to cover the nipple of one, the other would pop out. Keeping it centred meant that both peeped shyly at the sides.

‘Well, they’ll like that. You can see mine a bit, too.’ Though he didn’t have breasts in quite the way Ori did, Bilbo’s chest was rather soft and plump, and his nipples rather large and puffy. He had only a small, soft patch of hair between them, and a little more under his arms, hardly any compared with the lush growth on Ori’s tummy and the fine fleece over his breasts.

‘Yours are _so_ pretty,’ Ori said, and impulsively leaned forward to kiss Bilbo. He had only just begun to kiss him without asking permission, after some encouragement. In the early days it had been very nice to always be asked, and so politely too, but it seemed unnecessary now.

‘That was lovely. Remember, you’re welcome to touch me whenever you like. If it’s ever the wrong time, or I don’t feel like it, I’ll say so. But I _like_ it when my lovely boys paw me a bit.’

‘I’ll try to paw you more,’ Ori said, blushing and looking very pleased. ‘Shall we go back? I think we’ll both get pawed if we do.’

He was pawed to his heart’s content, as Dwalin gave a grunt of satisfaction when he arrived bearing the beer, pulled him down to sit in his lap for the meal, and hand-fed him for most of it. When they retired to the sitting room, which was rather cooler, to smoke and sip Bilbo’s elderflower wine, he seemed so taken with Ori in the apron that he kept him on his knee, stroking his back and legs with the hand unoccupied with a pipe, murmuring in his ear in a deep buzz.

Bilbo sat on the sofa next to Bofur, snuggled close to his hip with one arm around him. He felt pleasantly full, without being overstuffed, and though he was still very warm he was beginning to cool to something more comfortable. His pipe was mellow and good, and he was with three dear friends, at least one of whom he could be sure of going to bed with tonight. He thought of his cosy bed, with only light sheets and a cotton quilt at this time of year, and how very fine it was to be snuggled down in it with Bofur curled at his back, one big hand fondly cupping his tummy. He had given Bofur a very nice spare bedroom that he had put his baggage in and not used once since he arrived. 

He heard a little murmur from Ori, not quite a moan, and glanced over to see that Dwalin had one hand under the apron, fingers between Ori’s legs. 

‘D’you like that?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble.

‘Mmm.’

‘Or would you like me to rub your little bubbies first?’

‘Oh, both.’

‘Greedy.’ Dwalin’s other hand slid up Ori’s side to cup and squeeze one breast. ‘They’re watching, you know.’

‘Mm.’

‘D’you like it? Tell me.’

‘I - I do. It’s nice, knowing… knowing they’re looking at me, you touching me.’

‘How does it make you feel?’

‘Bit wicked. A bit… um… a bit special.’

‘And so you are. My special lad, my good boy. I’d like to show them your wee cunt.’

‘All right,’ Ori said quickly.

‘Just all right?’

‘I mean, yes please.’

‘Now, just so I’m sure...’

‘Please show them my cunt.’

That was a word Bilbo always found very shocking, especially coming from dear little Ori, but he supposed he knew best what he liked his bits to be called. He’d asked him about that rather nervously, afraid he’d give offence through his ignorance. Balin had told him quietly but extremely firmly that if he wanted to stay friends with the dwarves, he wouldn’t argue with anyone about whether they were a man or a woman because of the bits they had. To his relief, Ori had seemed fairly untroubled about it, though he said some men were more particular. He didn’t mind if Bilbo called it a fanny, though cunny was better and cunt was best. That remarkable willy-like protrusion was a cocklet or sometimes pricklet, but shouldn’t be called anything else. His bumhole was just a bumhole and nothing to worry about.

Dwalin was pushing the skirt of the apron up, gathering it at Ori’s waist. He gripped his legs and arranged him so that his back was against Dwalin’s chest, his thighs spread wide. Ori drew his knees up and balanced his long, rather bony feet on Dwalin’s knees, his toes curled over as if hanging on.

‘Gentlemen,’ Dwalin said, ‘presenting a lovely little cunt.’ He slid his two fingers down over Ori’s thickly haired mound and scissored them apart to spread the lips. Inside was glossy wet and sweetly pink, and Ori covered his nose and mouth with his hands in apparent embarrassment, peeping out at them over his fingers.

‘That’s the nicest cunt I ever saw,’ Bofur said warmly. ‘Look how wet and juicy it is. That’s a really prime cunt if ever I saw one.’

‘It must feel lovely,’ Bilbo added. He felt a bit shy about this sort of thing still, but they’d done it enough for him to know that Ori adored it.

‘Aye, and it’s a hungry one,’ Dwalin agreed. He sucked his forefinger and worked it into Ori’s snug little passage, making a soft smacking sound. Ori closed his eyes and moaned softly. ‘When I fuck him, I can feel it sucking my cock. Wants to suck the spunk right out of me.’

‘Lucky man,’ Bofur said, nodding sagely. He gave Bilbo’s waist a little squeeze, rubbing his soft side where the apron’s sash indented his flesh a bit. ‘Though I’ve no complaints here.’

‘Bilbo, would you like to come and help me with this?’ Dwalin asked. ‘I hate to ask you to leave a comfy spot, but I’ve only the two hands and one mouth.’

‘Can you spare me?’ Bilbo asked, turning his head to prop his chin on Bofur’s shoulder.

‘Oh, I think I can for a bit. I’ll call you back if I get too lonely.’

‘Jolly good.’ Bilbo got to his feet. ‘Where would you like me, Dwalin?’

‘Just on the floor in front of us.’

Bilbo prudently brought a cushion with him, and knelt comfortably with his feet tucked under his bottom. He had a perfect view of Ori’s spread cunt, and could smell it distinctly, rather spicy and sweet, and sweaty on top of that. The lush hair just around and under it was curling with moisture.

‘Now you go to work with your mouth, and I’ll take care of the rest.’ Dwalin brought both hands up to Ori’s chest, rubbing his breasts in small circles. ‘Give us a kiss.’ Ori turned his head, lips parting and tonguetip seeking, and Bilbo nuzzled in, his hands on Ori’s thighs. He spent a little time licking the lips, just because they were so soft and interesting and unlike anything of his, and he enjoyed fluttering them from side to side with the tip of his tongue. He could feel Ori squirming, his thighs tensing and relaxing, his hips wriggling in Dwalin’s lap, and hear his soft panting mixed with little grunts. He and Dwalin were not quiet kissers, their lips and tongues sliding and smacking wetly together. Dwalin’s breathing was never quiet, because of his broken nose, but it was growing deeper and gruffer.

Bilbo licked in between the soft folds, poking his tongue-tip down and in where Ori’s coppery taste welled up the strongest. He was always very tight to start off with, though he could open up wonderfully with encouragement, letting in Bilbo’s small hand or Dwalin’s club of a cock without any pain. Ori mewled and screwed his hips against Bilbo’s face, guiding him to prod deeper, surging his tongue in and out. His willy was pricking up eagerly, and he spared a hand from Ori’s thigh to rub himself, stretching his small shaft between thumb and fingers. He was unconsciously making little grunts himself, greedy, satisfied nursing sounds.

Ori’s cocklet was squashed up against his nose, stiff and quivering. Though it didn’t grow like a willy, it certainly changed from soft to firm as he grew more excited. It was thickening nicely, and he left off thrusting with his tongue to nuzzle up and suck it. Ori gave a sharp little ‘Ah!’, his hips kicking a moment.

‘Ooh… Bilbo… do that more…’ he breathed before Dwalin covered his mouth again. Bilbo obligingly buried his snub nose in the soft gingery tussock over Ori’s mound and sucked his cocklet deeply, lathering it with his tongue and giving a soft ‘mmm’ in his throat. Just for good measure, he worked a finger into his cunny, stroking in and out. 

‘How is he now, Bilbo?’ Dwalin asked.

‘Nice and sloppy. Getting a bit dribbly.’

‘Well now. My wee lad has a choice. What would you have next, Ori? Bilbo’s right there. He could keep on sucking you, get you off like that, fingers and tongue, that’s always good. He could grease his hand and give you his fist. Nice and slick, get a knuckle into the right spot, make you squirt. He could just get up and tup you. I’d like you to have something to soften you up before I get up you.’

Ori gnawed at his lower lip, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead so that it stood up in thick spikes. ‘I don’t knowwwwwoooh. I love all those.’

‘If you’d like a tiebreaker vote, I’d love to see him up to the wrist in you,’ Bofur piped up. He had made himself very comfortable, slouched down on the sofa with his legs apart, the front of the dressing gown fully open so that he could rub his chest and his cock. It was standing to attention, allowing for its slight curve to the right, and looking highly interested in the display.

‘Right, then. I’ll have that, please. Please, Bilbo?’

‘Of course. And Bofur can make himself useful, and fetch something to help me in - just in case all this honey isn’t _quite_ enough on its own.’ He kept suckling and licking, and working his fingers deeper, one and two and three, while Ori rocked his hips rhythmically, rubbing his bottom into Dwalin’s lap.

‘Look at that… three fingers, and nothing but your own cunt-juice. You little champion.’ Dwalin gave Ori a cuddle and kissed him on the ear.

‘Three isn’t much,’ Ori said, sounding delighted at the praise.

‘Isn’t much! When I first had you you were so tight I thought I’d have to fuck you with my pinkie.’

Ori giggled and rubbed his cheek on Dwalin’s hefty shoulder. ‘Well, you didn’t have to.’

‘No, ‘cos my laddie’s got a hungry cunt.’ He smacked a wet kiss on the side of Ori’s neck. ‘Sloppy hungry cunt. I’m going to fuck a baby into you.’

‘Dwalin!’ Ori exclaimed, sounding pleasantly scandalised.

‘Are you really?’ Bilbo asked.

‘One day. Not in a hurry. It’s nice to think about. My boy, with his cunt all sloppy and wet, full to the brim with jism. This little belly getting big.’ He spread his hand over Ori’s slight pot-belly and gave it a jiggle.

‘Mmm… not yet, though. I’ve still got my womb-rune in.’ Hobbit women depended on herbal remedies and counting the days to regulate their conception, which went some way to explain why hobbit families tended to be so large. Dwarves, he had been fascinated and baffled to learn, wore a small copper device inserted into the womb that entirely prevented conception until it was removed. Almost all dwarf births had been very carefully planned and chosen.

‘Aye, so you can get fucked by all and sundry till the cum runs down your legs.’

Ori began to laugh, a fluttering that Bilbo could feel in in the muscles of his cunt. ‘You do love talking about what a mess my cunny gets into.’

‘Love seeing it. Love feeling it. Love fucking the last fella’s cum deeper into you.’

‘Mmm… I love that too… love you making me yours all over again. And… ooh… Bilbo, yes, deeper… I do feel… do feel proud when I take all… ooh!’

‘Four fingers?’

‘Four, and nearly my knuckles,’ Bilbo reported. 

‘This should help with that,’ Bofur said, passing a bowl over Bilbo’s shoulder. He had filled it with cooking oil.

‘Oh, thank you!’ He drew his hand out and dipped it to the wrist before trying again, tucking his thumb in under his fingers. This part always took a little while, and began to feel as if they had reached the limit. Still, he enjoyed watching Ori’s face, and feeling the slick way his cunt flexed around his fingertips, and each little bit of depth his knuckles gained. Bofur knelt beside him, dipped his own hand and went back to stroking himself, watching with an eager smile.

‘It’s all right, my lovely, you can take it, you can take anything you want,’ Dwalin was rumbling, and Ori was whimpering.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘A bit. A bit. Oh, but I think you’re getting - just keep - oh! oh! there!’ The widest point of Bilbo’s knuckles slipped through the tightest point of the mouth of Ori’s cunt, and he sank deeper easily, letting his fingers curl in, admiring the thick pink lips embracing his wrist. ‘Oh! Oh! That’s better, that’s _so_ much better.’ 

‘I can feel the gate of your womb,’ Bilbo said, pressing gently on the inward bump with the back of his forefinger. ‘It feels a bit like the tip of a nose. And all round inside, you’re smooth and sleek and stretchy, like the inside of your cheek. You’ve lots of room inside. No wonder you like Dwalin’s great hammer fucking you.’ He could feel the unyielding solidity of Ori’s pelvic bone above his wrist, but it wasn’t difficult to move. He tried a gentle rocking motion, going just slightly in and out.

‘Ohhh...’ Ori’s head lolled back on Dwalin’s shoulder again, and his insides flexed juicily around Bilbo‘s fist.

‘Your _mighty_ cunt,’ Dwalin growled softly. 

‘That’s the cunt of a hero all right,’ Bofur said, sounding amused but admiring too. ‘Like, a warrior cunt. A cunt of legends.’

‘Want me to rub up here?’ Bilbo asked, shifting the knuckle of his thumb.

‘Ooh, yes. That’s the best _part.’_  

‘Right you are.’ He pressed upward, rocking his hand firmly, Ori reacting with a slow, panting gape of his mouth and a fluttering of his eyelids. ‘Good?’ he asked, smiling.

‘Mmm! _Mmm!’_ Ori’s toes were clenched on Dwalin’s knees, and he clutched at the thick forearm circling his waist. A little burst of clear fluid spat out onto Bilbo’s arm.

‘Did you come already?’

‘No, just - oh just - it was just a little blurt, it felt so - oh Bilbo go on, go on.’ He squirmed in rapturous tension as the rocking and pressure continued.

‘You’re so _wet._ It’s running up my arm.’

‘I love - ah - there, more there… keep on there, that’s… ooh! _Ooh!’_ Ori’s voice broke into rapid, harsh panting, and he strained against Bilbo’s hand, the walls of his cunt contracting tightly. ‘There - there!’ His flushed face seemed to blossom with delight and a spurt of warm wetness escaped him, followed by another, splashing Bilbo’s shoulder and chest until they tapered off to a thick trickle. He sagged back against Dwalin, shivering and smiling blissfully. Bilbo found himself mirroring that ecstatic smile, thrilled with what he’d managed to do.

‘That,’ Bofur said, ‘was _really_ impressive. I mean, you got quite a distance. I’m not sure I can squirt that much that far.’

‘You hear that? Champion.’ Dwalin squeezed Ori tight and kissed his cheek, grinning.

‘I wasn’t _trying._ I was just _coming.’_

‘Want to see if I can get you there again?’

‘Yes _please.’_  

Bilbo eased his hand out, dripping and shiny, and after a bit of fumbling with his trousers, Dwalin helped Ori to lift up and ease down on his cock. The deep red shaft slipped easily between the rosier lips, and Ori ground down on it, panting eagerly.

‘Ah, you’re just right. _Just_ right.’ Dwalin hooked his arms under Ori’s knees, lifting his legs, while he pushed his own hips forward and braced his feet squarely on the floor. He began a steady rocking, his breathing deep and heavy, his cock glistening with Ori’s wetness as it surged up and down. Ori tilted his head to kiss him, reaching down to rub his swollen pricklet between finger and thumb.

‘Psst,’ Bofur whispered in Bilbo’s ear.

‘Hmm?’

‘I can see you’re enjoying the show.’ He dotted a whiskery kiss against Bilbo’s earlobe. ‘You don’t have to stop watching. Would you like me up you while you do?’

‘That would be wonderful.’ He had already shuffled back a little when Dwalin’s legs pushed forward. He moved back a bit more, planting his hands on the floor and lifting his bottom for inspection, with a quick smile back over his shoulder.

‘That’s it.’ Bofur gave him an answering grin, oiling his hands. He kneaded at Bilbo’s soft buttocks, working his thumbs in circles, enjoying the soft squash of his pillowy cheeks. They parted easily, displaying his flushed pink cleft and rosy anus, giving a little wink and flutter as he pressed next to it with his thumb and stretched away. He pushed the tip of his thumb in to the first knuckle, just for openers, and slid his other hand down between Bilbo’s legs to cup and rub his sweet little cock and balls, just right as a handful or a mouthful. With Bilbo sighing and wriggling his hips, he drew his thumb out, dipped it in the oil again and pushed it in deeper, twirling it slightly to work the slippery texture in. He had never had the least difficulty stretching or entering Bilbo - if Ori had a hungry cunt, his bum was even hungrier - but he would be sore and grumpy later if he wasn’t slick and wet enough now. He gave his cock one last coat of oil for luck and pushed into Bilbo’s snug warmth.

Bilbo moaned gently, pushing back, wriggling to get Bofur’s cock settled inside him. _This will leave a mess,_ he thought vaguely - the cushion of the chair Dwalin and Ori were sharing was saturated all along its forward edge, there were drops and blobs of Ori’s watery spending on the floorboards, and he could feel oil dribbling down his thighs. The bother of cleaning it up was far away, though; right now the mess seemed luxurious and debauched. He pretended that the warm, dripping oil was the same as Ori’s juices, that it came from his own body through arousal, and shuddered with pleasure as Bofor began to pump his hips. The ring of his anus felt lushly stretchy and tingly, thrumming with the firm in-and-out rhythm, and his prostate was awakening to light strokes from the cockhead.

He wanted to watch Ori and Dwalin, to see them joined together and fucking so lovingly and frantically, but all his attention was turning inward to the place deep in his tummy where he was being so deliciously reshaped to fit Bofur. He lowered himself from his palms to his elbows, pushing his bottom up, his head hanging down.

‘Ohhh… I want to be fucked.’

‘You’re in the right place, then,’ Bofur said cheerfully, angling his stroke to rub downward more firmly.

‘I want to be fucked _all the time.’_

‘I’ll try.’ He bent and kissed Bilbo’s back before straightening to thrust again.

‘Like Ori...’ Bilbo moaned, and he felt Bofur chuckling.

‘How’s that?’

‘Mmmph...’ 

‘By Dwalin? By all and sundry?’

‘Sgot to be you. No good without you.’

‘I know. Thanks.’ 

He was slipping into one of his favourite fantasies, the one where he stayed in Erebor and became a sort of courtesan for all the dwarves, _all_ the dwarves, strong stocky bodies and thick soft beards and big hard hands and fat friendly cocks lining up for him, and he never wore a stitch and lived on cum and sweetmeats. It was completely impractical and unrealistic, so as fantasies went it was perfect. He decided that Ori could join him and they would have Dwalin and Bofur first and last every day. Yes, that would do nicely. And Ori was whimpering over there, coming again, and his own pleasure was swelling huge inside him, and Bofur was panting, gripping his bum tight and pumping him harder and faster. There was no reason why they couldn’t do this again and again, melting into a sweet warm syrup of summer fruits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fragment more, with a flashback. Good for people with an overweening size difference kink.  
> N.B. Just as I don't imagine/use the movie Bilbo Baggins, I don't accept the movie Beorn, who was just pathetic. I want Beorn with the personality he had in the book, and the look of a scaled-up Ron Perlman. Just add beard and hair as necessary. There you have him as you should imagine him for this story, anyway.

Bilbo woke in the warm, breathless dark, curled up with his head on Bofur’s chest. Everywhere their skins touched, and every fold in his own skin, was damp and tacky with sweat. They had only a sheet drawn over them, and it felt heavy and thick. He weakly batted it off and breathed deeply in relief as fractionally cooler air touched his skin. Bofur murmured faintly and nuzzled the top of his head before settling. 

He was so beautifully comfortable, except that his mouth was so dry it felt stuck together, and his bladder was bursting. There was a weight on his lower legs, and as he stirred he realised it was Dwalin’s arm. He and Ori must not have gone back to their room after their second round of the evening, all together on Bilbo’s bed. He didn’t think Ori would have gone back alone, in any case; where Dwalin slept Ori would be found, snuggled up to him, sometimes lying draped on top of him. Often he slept with Dwalin’s cock inside him, an arrangement Bilbo slightly envied him. He could go to sleep with Bofur tucked inside, but by morning his insides had always rearranged themselves to normal and nudged him back out. 

He very carefully peeled himself away from Bofur and rolled off the side of the bed, putting his feet to the floor as quietly as possible and padding gently away. He made his way to the lavatory in the warm shadows, and peed a torrent with great relief. As well as washing his hands in the basin, he splashed cool water on his face and finger-combed it through his curls, before drinking down a long draught of it. He heard a shuffling noise in the corridor outside, and padded out to find Ori feeling his way along the wall. 

‘Hallo,’ he whispered, putting his hand out to touch Ori’s arm.

‘Hallo,’ Ori whispered back. He shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, cuddling him close. ‘Thank you for having us to stay.’

Bilbo smiled against Ori’s wispy cheek and kissed the side of his neck. ‘You say that before you go away, not in the middle of your visit.’

‘I just feel so grateful. It’s _so_ nice. I love your house and your food and your soft cosy beds. And soft cosy _you,_ with your clever little hands and your naughty little mouth.’

‘Oh...’ Bilbo, lost for words but very pleased, squeezed him tight. ‘I love having you here. All of you. It’s so good to have company - the right sort of company, you know, and not too much of it at once.’

Ori chuckled. ‘You sound like Beorn. He was much happier about only three of us stopping at his house on the way here. Scuse me. I’m bursting.’ He let go and darted into the bathroom. 

That brought Beorn back to mind, and how kind and comforting, in his gruff way, he had been that strange Yuletide that Gandalf and Bilbo had spent with him on the way back from the Lonely Mountain. He had been heartsick about what had happened to Thorin and his nephews, and it only helped a little to have Bofur’s promises that he loved him truly and would come to see him as soon as his family was settled and safe. 

At first he had felt Beorn was making fun of him, calling him little bunny again, but he gradually realised that he really meant it affectionately. The huge man had patted him, stroked him, treating him rather as if he was a skittish little animal, but then, animals were people to Beorn. Before long Bilbo felt easy letting him lift him up and hold him, cuddling him to his great hairy musky-smelling chest, nestling him in his lap and hand-feeding him cream and honey. When Beorn took him to bed with him, he had thought that it might only be for a cuddle, but he had stroked his cheek with one great finger and asked if he would like something more than comfort, and after a little hesitation, Bilbo had squeaked out ‘Yes?’

Beorn had asked again, more than once, as his caresses grew warmer and heavier, until the ‘Yes’ had become emphatic. He had licked all over Bilbo’s body, his tongue as large as Bilbo’s outspread hand, making it flat and soft to work his chest and belly and groin, pointing the tip to penetrate him and bring him to a jelly-legged climax. He had been astonished, and felt a little guilty, that Beorn seemed to have no thought of his own gratification in anything he did to or for Bilbo. He had insisted on reciprocating, out of sheer good manners, though his host told him it would wait until the next night - for now, he should sleep well in the warm. He had slept _so_ well, sprawled on Beorn’s furry chest and belly, that he hardly wanted to wake. 

Reciprocating had meant sucking nipples almost the size of his own nose, clambering down to hug a prodigious cock with both arms and poke his own tongue into its slit, and finally thrusting his well-buttered arm into Beorn’s backside up to the shoulder. He had felt awkward and clumsy and ridiculous the whole time, but had gained praise and finally made the big man come. Afterwards Beorn had bathed him and dried him and licked him to orgasm and then soothed him to sleep. It had become habitual in the time they stayed there, waiting for the snow to clear enough to be on their way, and if he sometimes wondered what Gandalf thought about it, he was not curious enough or bold enough to ask.

He had become lazier, behaving like a cossetted little pet to Beorn, letting him carry him about, lying in his lap (often belly-up so Beorn could tickle his tummy), accepting all caresses without thought of repaying them. It had been so wonderfully, mindlessly, luxuriously soothing, and Beorn had just seemed pleased to see him pleased. He remembered lying draped over Beorn, legs splayed and arms spread around his barrel chest, one massive hand gently stroking his back, and the burr and rumble of his voice vibrating into his own body: ‘Is that good, little bunny?’ He had rubbed his cheek on thick dark fur and moaned softly for ‘yes.’ It seemed very far away and long ago now, just last winter.


End file.
